Of Fathers, Brothers, and Sons
by rusticautumn
Summary: Written for the Fete des Mousquetaires competition: "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret". / "He looked at d'Artagnan with an almost fearful expression on his face. Before him lay his trusted Captain, his big brother, and his friend… but now, for the first time in years, he felt that trust slip away…"
1. Chapter 1

**AN/ This is my entry to the _Fete des Mousquetaires_ competition: "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret". Please go to the forum for more information regarding the competition and it's rules.**

 _3 Chapters: 3,267 Words_

Disclaimer:- I do not own The Musketeers (BBC).

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

King Louis XIV sat tall on his mount and was leading the royal hunt as he and his men sped through woods with the dexterity and skill that his father had never possessed. His father, for all his love towards his country and his family, had been timid, boisterous, and childish. By contrast, the son of Louis and Anne, was demure, but not anxious; energetic, but always in control; and excitable, but knew when to rein it in.

His father had passed when he was eleven years of age. His mother had ruled as regent until Louis had turned eighteen, and now, at nineteen, he was the leader of France and, under the tutelage of his mother, the now retired Treville, and the various ministers and musketeers he'd had by his side as he'd grown up, he felt he was a fair and careful ruler.

His prey – a stag the party had been tracking for some leagues before the chase had begun – pulled away from him, and Louis pulled his haunches in, encouraging his steed to pick up even more speed. He always found this an exhilarating experience: the power of his horse shifting in time with the sway of his body, the wind whistling in his ears, and whipping his hair up… just the speed of it has his heart racing.

He was gaining pace… he truly had the prey within his sights… any moment…

A ragged yell echoed in the air not so far from his ear and he felt, rather than saw, the horse come up alongside him, as his reigns were pulled from his hands, and his horse pushed off course.

Amongst the bewilderment, he also felt anger at the sudden loss of momentum in his chase. It was a brief feeling, for suddenly, the horse that had pulled up beside him was collapsing against his own and the rider was dragging him off his mount and to the ground.

The two riders landed in a tangled heap, the other man's hand protecting the King's head as they careened to the ground. Louis grunted at the rough landing, and in the background other sounds were beginning to filter in: metal on metal, shots peppering the air, wild shouts and yells…

Louis finally gathered his senses as everything slowed down and he was able to detach the wildness of the chase from the almost abstract, fleeting, moment from which he was thrown from his horse, to where he was now, lying in the dirt, with a body lying over his own, and the sounds of battle flying all about him.

The man on top of him shifted and coughed.

"D'Artagnan?" the young King asked.

"Apologises Majesty," the King's Captain of the Musketeer guard huffed out breathlessly. "Had to put something between you and the shot."

"You mean yourself," Louis asked, rather concerned.

"That is my job," d'Artagnan said with a trace of humour in his voice. "We've got to move. Now."

D'Artagnan scrambled up and pulled Louis with him, and put his body between Louis and himself.

Louis drew his sword as he took in the carnage about him. He wasn't a musketeer, but d'Artagnan, Porthos, and a few others in the guard had taught him the lay of the land, and he was reasonably proficient in self-defence with both sword and fists.

Before him, lay d'Artagnan's mount, clearly dying from the shot meant for Louis and his mount. Louis searched for his horse in the mayhem, but could not find him. The group had been set upon by what roughly looked like a force of ten to fifteen men, and the musketeers were beating them back, but the enemy had surprise on their side, and so it had been a while before the musketeers could pull the battle back into their court.

Standing between his charge and the carnage, d'Artagnan set to work, dispatching the two men advancing on the King, and then pulling his ruler and friend away from the midst of the battle. He watched his men, checked they had the battle in hand, passed a shouting order to Henri, his second in command now that Porthos had transitioned to Minister for Population and Civil Inquiry, and then corralled the King onto a spare mount. He took another horse for himself and harried the King away from the fight, with another two musketeer's taking the rear.

They rode hard and fast until they reached the palace, then they trotted through the gates.

"Etienne!" d'Artagnan called to one of the musketeers on guard duty. "There was an ambush on the route. Please inform Athos and have Henri come report to us both upon his return."

Etienne nodded and went to dispatch someone to locate Athos.

"Let's go inside, Majesty," d'Artagnan said, handing his reigns to the stable boy.

"You know that is not necessary," Louis said. "You may call me by my name."

"You're the King now Louis," d'Artagnan said. "At least in others company I should address you as such. Even your mother does so when in public."

"But it feels so needless," Louis sighed. "You're practically my brother."

"I think you mean _big_ brother," d'Artagnan teased, jabbing his friend in the ribs as he teased him. "I used to carry you about on my shoulders remember?"

Louis looked annoyed for all of a minute before he, too, was grinning at the memory. D'Artagnan was almost exactly twice his age, and had often taken charge of the King's protection when he was growing up. The two had become incredibly close, and for all intents and purposes, d'Artagnan was his friend and brother, as much as he was his royal subject and bodyguard.

When Treville had stepped down as Minister for Defence, Athos had been the most obvious successor, and, in turn, d'Artagnan had settled into the role as Captain as a babe takes to water.

They entered the meeting hall just as Athos arrived from one of the side doors. Queen Anne was already sitting by the fire and looked up at the unexpected arrivals.

"What has happened?" she asked, looking over her son and the two soldiers with concern.

"There was an ambush mother," Louis said. "But I'm fine. D'Artagnan has made sure of that."

"Then I am grateful as ever Captain," Anne said with a gracious smile in d'Artagnan's direction.

D'Artagnan returned the smile and dipped his head solemnly before turning to Athos.

"Thirteen men that I could count," he said. "I may have heard a snatch of what might have been Italian, but I'm afraid I don't speak the language well enough to be sure. Henri will hopefully leave one alive."

"Indeed," Athos nodded. "In the meantime, I'm glad that you have both arrived safely. Shall we sit?"

The three men joined the Queen, and Louis poured drinks for them all, much to Athos' uncertainty and d'Artagnan's amusement.

D'Artagnan had thought to go back to his men, but his bones ached and he felt tired, and knew he could trust Henri to command in his stead so he sat, nursed his drink, and… slowly… let his eyes slip closed.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos watched the young King as he described the scene of the ambush to both himself and the Queen, who looked like she wasn't sure whether to be concerned for your son, or whether to laugh at his adrenaline fuelled excitement.

He turned to catch d'Artagnan's eye, but found the man's eyes closed, his drink titling dangerously in his hand. He reached across to rescue it and placed his other hand on the Gascon's knee.

He didn't stir.

"D'Artagnan?"

Anne and Louis turned as Athos called to his man.

"D'Artagnan?" he asked again, louder his time. D'Artagnan's eyelids fluttered, but couldn't seem to open fully. Athos was out of his seat in seconds, and Louis was now standing.

Athos called to his brother again and again, checking his friend's body until his hand came away bloody.

Behind him Louis swore and Anne called from the servants to fetch the physician.

D'Artagnan was completely insensate so Louis and Athos took an arm each and pulled the man towards the King's own chambers, with Anne following quickly behind.

As they travelled the hallways both Athos and Louis kept up a litany, pleading for their mutual friend to stay with them. The physician met them as they arrived in the King's rooms.

"Excuse me, Majesty," Doctor Bernard ducked past the two men to get to his patient. He pulled away d'Artagnan's doublet and shirt to find the spatter of buck shot shrapnel stuck in the musketeer's back and blood pulsing from the wound.

"Why did he not say anything?!" Louis cried in despair as he watched his friend and brother bleed.

"He probably didn't realise he was badly injured, your Majesty," the Doctor explained. "His doublet was pulled tight, and he was probably feeling the effects of adrenaline, which can sometimes hide or disguise feelings of pain."

"Come on, Majesty," Athos pulled Louis back a bit. "Let's give the Doctor room to work."

/\/\/\/\

Louis sat at d'Artagnan's bedside and prayed that his friend would survive the results of his blood loss and the resultant fever that now ferociously burned through the musketeer's body.

They had figured out that the injury must have occurred when d'Artagnan had first pulled the King from his horse, and that the shot had not merely hit the animal, but his rider as well.

After the doctor had finished in his work and wrapped the injury tightly, he had left clear instructions on which medicine to give and then left. Athos had paced the room for some time before leaving to take a report from Henri and review the threat to the King. Louis had eventually been called away to meet with Athos to hear the facts of the matter: a group of anarchist rebels from Italy had mounted an attack, and while there was no further imminent threat, they must keep a wary eye out. In fact, at the end of the meeting, Louis had dispatched a message to his ambassador in Rome.

When he'd finally been able to return to d'Artagnan's side, the fever was already raging and Porthos had been sitting at the man's side. Constance had also been located by then and was sitting with her husband also. When Louis arrived, Porthos, who was always somewhat shy around the King, smiled kindly and took his leave. Constance had risen and hugged Louis and kissed his forehead, before guiding him to sit beside her.

It was odd really. Constance had been his governess in his youth, so while d'Artagnan was like his brother, she was very much his aunt, if not a second mother. It was never an idea that particularly troubled him, for their love and kindness was granted in equal measure, but it was an unusual bundle of relationships that he had made for himself.

As the night drew on, Anne had come to pull Constance away, taking d'Artagnan's wife to the Queen's rooms to rest.

Louis then sat alone with his friend, rinsing cold water over his friend's brow.

As the early hours of the morning began to pass, and the first light began to filter in, d'Artagnan's eyes drifted open. They were covered in a film of fever induced haze but Louis smiled nonetheless.

"Hello there my friend," the King said.

"Louis…" D'Artagnan spoke softly and breathlessly.

"I'm here," Louis reassured him. "You have a fever, but you'll be okay."

"Ummmm."

Louis looked down at his friend as d'Artagnan's brow creased and the musketeer shifted his head slightly to stare at his King through glazed eyes.

"You're so much like you're father," d'Artagnan said softly… almost in a conspirator's whisper.

"You think so?" Louis asked. "I've never really thought so, but I guess I never got to know him as well as you."

D'Artagnan didn't say anything to that. His eyes slipped sideways and he appeared to lose his train of thought. Louis placed another wet towel on d'Artagnan's burning forehead.

"It's a pity…" d'Artagnan began to speak but his voice petered out.

"What's a pity?" Louis asked curiously. "D'Artagnan? What's a pity?"

D'Artagnan didn't reply though… he appeared to have drifted back off. Louis frowned, and turned back to the basin of water.

"You should have met him," d'Artagnan whispered, suddenly.

"Met who?" Louis asked. An odd feeling, as if a cold hand was crawling up his back, came over him. "Who should I have met? D'Artagnan?"

"Your father…"

The words were breathless and practically incognizant as d'Artagnan now truly did fall back into slumber, his head lolling back on the pillow. On auto-pilot Louis retrieved the damp towel and re-applied it.

"But I knew my father…" he whispered almost to himself. But as he sat there in the early morning light, and his friend struggling for purchase before him, he couldn't shake the feeling… a feeling he'd supressed for quite some years.

He looked at d'Artagnan with an almost fearful expression on his face. Before him lay his trusted Captain, his big brother, and his friend… but now, for the first time in years, he felt that trust slip away…


	3. Chapter 3

Four months later d'Artagnan had long since recovered and was leading the protection for the King as he went out on a solo ride. In fact, there were only the two of them, a protective oversight that d'Artagnan had been weary to allow so far from the palace grounds, but the King had insisted that it only be the two of them riding.

In all honesty, Louis had been somewhat distant these last few months, and d'Artagnan was glad for the chance to check in on his King in proper terms.

They broached a rise in the hills and pulled to a stop to look across the pass.

"Look here for this is yours now King of France…" d'Artagnan intoned the clichéd phrase and chuckled inwardly. However, his humour faded as he found it unreciprocated.

"Am I?" Louis asked.

"Are you what, your Majesty?"

"Am I King of France?"

"What a bizarre question!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"Is it?" Louis asked. "Because a few months ago you seemed to imply I didn't know my father. Now my father being the King of France, and dying when I was actually old enough to remember him well enough, I'd think I would know him, wouldn't you?"

"I don't remember saying that," d'Artagnan said, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You haven't corrected me though," Louis said. "And you were with fever when you said it."

"You Majesty, you know as well as I do that the fever plays with a man's mind…"

"Please, d'Artagnan, I consider you my friend. You may feel you're protecting me, but please don't lie to me."

D'Artagnan watched his friend and sighed. Coming to a decision, he looked to the sky, calculated the distance and then started off at a trot, still moving away from Paris.

"D'Artagnan?" Louis called after him, worried he'd made a grave mistake in calling his friend out. After all, he didn't want to lose the bond they shared, no matter how much he'd shunned it these last few months.

"Come with me now and we can make it there and back to the palace by sun-down," d'Artagnan called back.

"Make it where?" Louis shouted, but d'Artagnan didn't respond and picked up pace, forcing the King to match him. Louis momentarily considered pulling rank, but decided against it… his curiosity winning out.

Eventually, in the late afternoon, they reached an abbot on the edge of the forest.

"Wait here, Majesty," d'Artagnan said. "I shan't be a moment."

Clearly d'Artagnan felt at ease here, to leave the King without a guard, as he hurried into a small building, possibly a workshop, to the side of the main priory.

A few minutes later d'Artagnan returned and motioned for the King to join him. They tied the horses to a post and then d'Artagnan took his friend aside.

"First of all," d'Artagnan said, "I have never lied – at least not directly. Secondly, I wished only to protect you… and your mother, and my old friends. And finally, you _are_ the King of France. You are the son and heir to the throne. You are the son of Queen Anne, wife to King Louis XIII. You need to remember that. You are still the ruler of this fine country, and you will always be, and have always been _my_ King."

"But King Louis is not my father is he?" Louis asked.

"In any other place besides this moment right here and now, King Louis _is_ your father," d'Artagnan said. "But an old friend of mine would very much like to meet you if you would like to also. His name is Aramis."

"Aramis," Louis whispered the name as if it were toffee. "You've mentioned him before. Mother speaks of him occasionally."

"Would you like to meet him?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Yes, please," Louis said softly.

"Then I won't stop you," d'Artagnan said, gesturing towards the workshop.

Louis hesitantly followed d'Artagnan's directions and, after pausing in the doorway, went inside.

The man that waited for him was thin and tall with tan skin and long hair tied back. He wore plain robes, and his workshop was filled with books and herbs. He watched the King with a mixture of joy, fear, and nerves… which Louis realised probably mirrored his own expression.

"Monsieur Aramis?" Louis asked him.

"Your Majesty," Aramis bowed his head.

The two then remained still and silent, as if unsure as to what to do or say next.

"Louis?" d'Artagnan called from the doorway.

"Yes, d'Art?"

"Promise me you won't hang neither Aramis nor myself for treason."

"Why would I do such a thing?" Louis asked incredulous. "I mean… I guess I know why I should but this is… I wouldn't… I can't…"

"Louis…" d'Artagnan cut the King off.

"Yes?"

"Go hug your father. He's been missing you for a long time."

The pause that followed that statement was revenant… a silence that could be heard for miles. And then Louis was moving and his arms were wrapped around this stranger that he at once did not know, and knew completely, and slowly the embrace was returned. The two men stood there for a very long time and when they parted, both were crying freely.

Louis glanced around, but d'Artagnan was not in sight. But as he watched the joy in his father's face, and felt in himself a moment of serene fulfilment he'd never achieved before, he knew that he would forever forgive his friend for the secret he had kept – the protection that had granted – and would forever be grateful for his breaking the silence when asked.

/\/\/\/\

That evening, when they returned to the palace, d'Artagnan bid his King adieu and returned to the garrison.

King Louis went to his mother's rooms. Anne was reading by the fire and looked up as her son arrived. He strode across the room and embraced his mother.

"Are you alright son?"

"D'Artagnan took me to meet my father today," Louis said softly. Anne stiffened in his hold, but Louis lifted her face so she could see his. He smiled. "I feel very deserving to be the son of two wonderful people."

Anne stared at her son and then, with shaking hands, wrapped him up in her arms and cried as he held her tight.

"There is nothing to forgive," Louis whispered in answer to the unsaid question. "There will never be anything to forgive."


End file.
